


the boy and the crow

by aminami



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Body Horror, Canon Divergence, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Memory Loss, Mental Instability, P5R Spoilers, Psychological Horror, Temporary Character Death, Unreliable Narrator, believe me or not it all ends well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aminami/pseuds/aminami
Summary: “I’m going to take care of you,” the boy says, and he sounds so confident that for a moment, the crow believes him too. “I won’t let you die, Mr. Crow.”The first time the crow dies in Akira’s hands, it makes a promise. A promise to keep the boy safe from harm, even long after its passing.The first time Akechi dies, he wakes up in Maruki’s Palace. With his consciousness flickering in and out, he barely recognizes that he’s already become a monster—half-human, half-crow.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 172





	the boy and the crow

**Author's Note:**

> please be advised that while it's meant to be completely symbolic, the first section includes a description of animal death. please skip the part in italics if it's too much!
> 
> (the story is loosely based on the japanese folktale "the grateful crane.")

_As inevitable as some facts of life can be, the crow never realized that its life would one day come to an end._

_The snow under its body is hard like the concrete, but it shone so beautifully during that last flight, sparkling like the most endearing treasure. It was already too late when the crow understood that the flight turned into a fall, and the frozen snow cut through its body like the most precious of diamonds—it would have been beautiful if it wasn’t so painful._

_It’s only then that the crow becomes familiar with the concept of dying._

_It’s knowledge it always carried within itself, stored somewhere under its wing for safekeeping until the time was right. Maybe it was simply too terrifying to reveal when its body was still full of life. After all, the concept that its days were numbered from the moment it came to this world would be too maddening to allow it to go on. With a thought like that, the crow would never be able to stretch out its wings to fly._

_And yet, sneaking from behind like a shadow, death has always been around, the crow realizes. Being a bird, the crow ate living things and sometimes bigger living things would eat its weaker companions. But the crow was ever so strong, stronger than most—to think it would meet its pitiful end, diving to its doom just to see the snow shine. The crow had never seen its own blood before, and the sight of it—now staining the immaculate snow—is strangely beautiful. The crow wishes that it too could shine in the cold winter sun._

_The crow wonders if dying was always meant to be so slow. It feels like it's waiting for something, as if nature itself held it back for some unknown reason. How much time has passed since the fatal landing? Hours? Days? It can’t know how long it takes to die._

_Suddenly, the silence of the morning breaks under the pressure of footsteps. The crow tries to lift its head with its last remaining strength, just to catch a glimpse of the newcomer. It’s not at all what it expected; the boy’s hair—almost as black as the bird’s feathers—leans over the broken body in front of him, a hint of worry present in his features. He looks way too young to be the god of death._

_“Are you okay, Mr. Crow?” he asks tentatively._

_Mister? Perhaps, he is a mister—if the boy says so._

_Even if he’s not Death, the boy could still be dangerous—he’s a human, after all. The crow vaguely remembers that the mother bird always told her children to stay away from human offspring. He makes a weak attempt at escaping from the boy, but with his frail broken wings, he only manages one pitiful sound of pain before collapsing on the ground._

_The boy makes a startling noise. He takes a quick look around to check if any adults are present, but they’re completely alone in the frozen park, like they’re the last living beings on Earth._

_The crow thinks to himself that maybe it’s just how things were always meant to end—for him to die slowly, and painfully, with some human boy’s pitiful gaze fixed upon his defeated body._

_To his surprise, the boy shrugs off his jacket, shivering in the winter air, and no matter how hard he tries, the crow cannot understand his strange behavior—the snow gathers on the boy’s hair like a crown, but he makes no effort to shake it off, muttering something under his breath that vaguely sounds like a prayer. The crow can’t do anything but watch his lithe body tremble in the cold, and for the first time, he feels genuine worry for the boy. How very irresponsible. It seems strange for a human child to be left alone without supervision—not even his own mother was this cruel._

_The crow makes a weak sound of protest when the boy picks him up through his jacket, pressing him gently to his chest like he’s something precious. It does feel strangely comforting though—the boy is warm and the crow’s body is already so cold that it might as well become one with the snow. He wouldn’t mind being buried right here, but he has no way to inform his savior about his dying wish._

_“I’m going to take care of you,” the boy says, and he sounds so confident that for a moment, the crow believes him too. “I won’t let you die, Mr. Crow.”_

_And that’s when it shifts—that meaningless gesture of kindness, the light touch of selfless generosity reaching out inside him, twisting, and pulling all the ugliness and fear out of his guts until he’s full of nothing else but unconditional love for this strange human child._

_The crow is glad that the boy holds him through the fabric; he looks way too young to have his hands covered with blood. In his last moments on Earth, the crow wants the boy to stay as pure as the snow crunching under his small feet. He hopes that no one will ever make him sully those gentle hands, holding him carefully like he can still be saved._

_He prays for the boy’s well-being. He prays that no harm will ever come to the boy, even if he’s just a bird, his words meaningless to the myriad of gods. He wants him to be safe. He wants him to be indestructible. He wants him to stand tall, taller than any other human._

_“Please, please, just be okay,” the boy murmurs to himself, his young soul likely already aware of the inevitable shadow of death looming over the crow’s body. Perhaps, even now he’s praying for the crow’s safety, too._

_It’s okay, though._

_Even if he bleeds to death, he’ll make sure to always watch over him. In the brief moment of clarity, he realizes that this is exactly his purpose—the crow will guard this boy as long as he’s able._

_The crow will return his debt. He always does._

_In the broken shell, he feels utterly powerless—he can’t speak. He can’t do anything but let himself be carried. He wonders if the boy would be able to understand him, but he’s too weak, and his throat is already filled with blood. Still, he wants to communicate with the boy. The crow wants to send his message of love and he wants it to last._

_Even with his time nearing an end, he feels strangely at peace. He already knows this boy’s soul. The crow knows this human. He knows who they are, and who they’ll become. The crow closes his eyes, his mind wrapping around the boy’s name, his real name like it’s his most precious gift._

_“Akira?” the crow hears a voice, likely belonging to an adult. “What are you doing out here without your jacket? You’ll freeze to death! And that bird, is it—”_

_The voices already melt away until the crow feels nothing but the strange warmth radiating off the boy’s—Akira’s—body._

_And in Akira’s hands he can feel his feathers fall back into place. For a second, he’s able to feel his own body again, and there’s no pain, no cold, no regret. One last time, the crow’s wings flutter in the weakest attempt to fly._

_Death comes peacefully, wrapping him up in the most pleasant dreams._

* * *

_...that’s right, November is particularly chilly this year! Make sure to pull out your warmest clothes from the closet, because December is only going to get colder!_

The TV announcer’s voice is so loud and cheerful where it comes through the thin walls of the adjacent apartment, that if presented with the right opportunity, Goro Akechi would kill her on the spot. Adding to the morning cacophony, the birds chirp way too cheerfully outside his window, the noise digging unpleasantly into his skull.

As he shakes off the ghost of his unpleasant dream, he becomes aware of yet another reason for his sour mood— his body feels heavy and restless. The normally silky sheets feel strangely uncomfortable and rough over his body, like they’re made of sandpaper, and no matter how long he tosses and turns, he can’t find a position comfortable enough to fall back asleep, so eventually, he decides to give it up completely.

Ever since he got his mind set on his goal, Goro trained his body to be perfect—to wake up without an alarm, his sore muscles never daring to interrupt his morning routine, even if he spent way too much time in the Metaverse getting beaten up by monsters. Hangovers never stopped him before either, but some mornings even Goro feels too small and unfit for his own skin.

It’s the light that hurts him most— he must have forgotten to close the damn curtains when he came home last night. Yet again, the pestering beams of sunlight invading his bedroom serve as a grim reminder of his idiocy. It takes him three tries to keep his eyes open, but in the end, it’s just another hindrance on his path. Goro prides himself in being rather skillful when it comes to removing obstacles.

Everything around him is full of noise and light as if the world wanted to spite him for being alive, and punish him for what he took from it just the other night.

Some poorly addressed longing tingles under his skin.

Goro Akechi might be many things—a celebrity, a traitor, a murder—but he’s not sentimental. He still has work to do and he can’t afford to stay in bed all day. It’s not like he has a reason to stay idle. All that matters is that Shido will finally get out of his hair. He was likely celebrating his victory last night, while Goro was mourning his own.

_Mourning._

He mulls over his own choice of words, deciding to blame his dream for any residue guilt. That’s right, it’s all because of—

_Akira’s voice echoes in the empty shop. “So do you like your new code name?”_

_They’re sitting in Leblanc. It’s surprisingly rare for the two of them to be completely alone these days. Akira’s annoying cat is nowhere to be seen; at least now Goro doesn’t have to play dumb whenever Morgana opens his ungodly mouth to speak. Eventually, even Leblanc’s owner decides to take his leave, ordering Akira to lock up when they’re done._

_Sometimes Goro thinks that other than him and Sae, Leblanc’s only customers seem to be spiders and fruit flies, and of course, Akira’s annoying friends who never pay for the coffee anyway. Akira never offered to pay for Goro’s coffee—at this point, he knows just how much Goro hates the idea of having debt._

_Akira’s giving him a curious look, like a cat observing a particularly delightfully fat bird on a tree branch. He asked him something, didn’t he?_

_Goro curses himself inwardly—it’s not like him to trail off in his thoughts, but something about Leblanc’s atmosphere always makes him drop his guard down. To him, Leblanc is the most dangerous place on Earth, more so than even Mementos. It’s a treacherous path, full of quicksand that only pulls him deeper the more he struggles._

_Akira repeats the question and Goro considers his options carefully before coming up with an answer._

_“Does it matter?” he shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee just to do something with his hands. “I thought I made it very clear that this is a one-time thing. The Phantom Thieves will disband soon enough, and it won’t matter what you call me.”_

_He pauses for a moment. “Besides, I suggested it myself. It’s you guys who pretentiously call yourself foreign-sounding names. I can’t say I particularly mind either way.”_

_Goro doesn’t even bother to hide his disdain, his mask slipping off ever so slightly whenever he finds himself talking to Akira alone. He hates Akira’s friends—they remind him way too much of himself when he first discovered his powers._

_Goro knows the truth and he finds them almost pitiful. The so-called Phantom Thieves are just a bunch of kids trying to make themselves look cool—like the Metaverse is nothing but fun and games to them. It makes his stomach curl with rage._

_He will show them what it’s really like soon enough._

_“Karasu,” Akira rolls the nickname around his tongue like it’s a word he’s never heard before. “Crow suits you better. But I must say, I was really surprised when you picked that one.”_

_It always feels like Akira’s somehow two steps ahead of him, like he knows stuff about him that Goro doesn’t. He can’t help but think he’s wasting his potential as the leader of the Phantom Thieves._

_“I already told you,” Goro replies, his skin crawling. “With my outfit, it makes me more inconspicuous.”_

_“There’s nothing inconspicuous about your outfit,” Akira snorts. “You’re not going to ask me why I found it so surprising?”_

_Goro does, but it almost feels like letting Akira win. He hates it._

_“When I was a child, I found a wounded crow in the park next to my house,” Akira says after a while. “I would go there every day to play after school, and usually my friends would join me, but that one time they ditched me. I think that maybe I was supposed to be alone that day, to be able to see what I saw. I remember that the winter was particularly cold that year, and the poor thing almost froze to death. I’ve never seen so much blood, it almost felt like it didn’t come from the bird. Still, I told myself I had to save it.”_

_“And did you manage?” Goro asks, more out of courtesy than actual interest._

_“Unfortunately no,” Akira smiles weakly. “It died in my hands, and we buried it under a tree in our garden. I can’t remember everything clearly, in truth, I forgot about the crow until you mentioned your nickname that day at the Palace. Which reminded me that at the time, it was almost like I knew that crow. And I felt like it was trying to tell me something, too.”_

_Goro doesn’t know why he keeps listening instead of just calling Akira crazy. Be that as it may, he finds himself unable to look away from Akira’s face, committing every twitch of muscle to his memory._

_Goro’s always had difficulties expressing sadness. He fakes his smiles well enough, but he can’t imagine he’d ever be able to make himself cry on purpose. Akira might not be crying at the moment, but the pure unguarded sorrow in his gaze is almost hypnotizing to someone like Goro who always keeps his emotions at bay._

_“What was it trying to say?” he asks, somewhat aloof, just to keep the conversation going._

_“It said—”_

_Akira grabs his throat. For a moment, he looks very pale, choking at his own words and as he coughs, the blood splatters on the counter, just inches away from Goro’s fingers. Goro’s at his feet at once, but something in Akira’s gaze, cold and betrayed, stops him in his tracks._

_That’s right, he broke a promise. The same promise he made that one winter’s day. It’s only fair that he should get punished._

_“The crow said you’re going to join me soon enough.”_

Goro throws up over the edge of his bed. He’s shivering, the smell of blood still unmistakable where it hits his nostrils. It almost comes as a surprise—the blood in the Metaverse never had that kind of smell. It’s only after he takes a few deep breaths that he manages to recover, forcing his brain to recall the memory again.

That’s not how it happened, he tells himself.

Goro slides his fingers through his hair, trying to reassemble his disorganized thoughts. He doesn’t even know where to begin—Goro is _never_ disorganized. Every second of his life, every gesture, every pull of muscle is absolutely calculated. People like him don’t have time to waste, and he can’t allow his conscience to slow him down now. Ideally, he wouldn’t have to think about it at all, but with his instincts blaring in alarm in his mind, he recalls the facts as calmly as he can.

First of all, Akira never got to finish the story, because Morgana came back unexpectedly, and reminded Akira about his homework—likely just as an excuse to get rid of Goro. Gritting his teeth, Goro apologized for keeping Akira busy, paid for the coffee, said ‘ _See you in the Palace tomorrow_ ’, and promptly left.

Second of all, even excluding the fantastical elements of the memory, that conversation took place several days ago, and they’ve seen each other since then. It is indisputable however that Akira Kurusu really is dead—Goro shot him himself in the interrogation room. He saw that annoyingly clever brain scatter across the wall, there couldn’t be a mistake.

Third of all, he never promised Akira a thing.

Goro studies his body carefully, like he’s looking at inconveniently malfunctioning equipment. It hits him that he never murdered anyone _outside_ the Metaverse. Logically, it was bound to take its toll on him, and he supposes he did grow a little too fond of Akira, so he needs to give it time.

It’s not that different from all the other jobs he’s done for Shido so far, he reminds himself. It’s just one less worthless piece of trash wandering the streets of Tokyo—even if Goro liked him, that’s all he ever was. And Goro still has a job to do—if he decides that Akira was worth mourning after all, he can do just that after he takes his revenge.

Even though it’s his day off, he still needs to prepare for the upcoming interview tomorrow. He’ll talk about how sad it makes him to see someone so young commit suicide—it’s tragic really, but not at all surprising considering the leader of the Phantom Thieves chose to follow the dark path of injustice. He’ll make sure to offer his condolences to the criminal’s family—he practiced his facial expression all week just to make it believable.

As he tries to get up, Goro trips over the empty bottles still lingering next to his bed. One of the bottles smashes, and as he tries to regain his balance, he steps into the glass with his bare foot, swearing gingerly under his breath.

The sight of his own blood surprises him. Sometimes Goro forgets he can still bleed.

In the Metaverse, he feels almost indestructible. At first, there were some cuts and bruises, sore muscles, and long periods of complete exhaustion. He did his best to hide them from Shido, hellbent on getting better and stronger just so he doesn’t become a liability. That’s why it made him furious seeing how weak Akira’s friends are, constantly complaining, so eager to show off their weaknesses—they were all so quick to bruise, like bad apples that they were.

The difference between them and Akira was staggering.

 _‘Sometimes when I see you dodge, you’re so fast it looks like you’re flying,’_ Akira commended Goro once like the good leader he was.

And he was still hardly a match for Joker. Joker was like a cat, more liquid than flesh and bone. It was almost a relief to see his blood splattered in the interrogation room—it only served as proof that Joker was still human.

Thinking of Akira’s friends makes his blood boil. He wishes Shido had given him an order to just rip them all to pieces alongside Akira. He could easily handle all of them, now that they’re missing their precious leader. But his cold calculating mind tells him it would only draw too much attention, and he can’t allow himself to lose now.

Goro manages to get all the glass out of his wound and tends to it to the best of his ability. He could probably use some stitching but he can take off that later. He can barely feel the pain, if anything Goro feels unreasonably cold. He vaguely recalls the weather forecast that woke him up this morning. Cold weather—that’s all this is.

Perhaps, a warm shower could help. Worst case, he’ll just bandage his foot again.

He avoids looking in the mirror once he gets naked in the bathroom. He doesn’t need to see his reflection to know he looks like shit. Without his morning routine, he’s nothing but a disgustingly ugly high schooler, the same as everyone else. A lot like Akira Kurusu.

With his back turned towards the mirror, there isn’t much he can see. Yet, there’s something he catches right in the corner of his eye, that has him turn around so quickly that he almost topples over, his injured foot giving in under the pressure.

He blinks. Then blinks again, and yet he sees nothing but his terrified expression, which is likely the first time he’s ever seen it on his face. Unlike most facial expressions he carefully observes, he wants it out of his memory as fast as possible.

He studies his body with meticulous precision, but the only thing that really stands out is the goosebumps all over his body—he lets his fingers run through his arm to examine them. He can feel _something_ pulsating under his skin, like it’s about to burst open, itching and tugging at him from the inside. Other than that, there’s nothing that would catch his eye.

But he saw something, just for a moment. Something black and shiny on his smooth skin. A bruise? Dirt? It’s not that unlikely with everything that happened recently.

The shower does little to soothe his nerves. He makes the water hotter than he normally would, his body greedily drinking in any warmth it can get. He closes his eyes, the water washing away the remaining bits of sleep from his eyelids and sinking into his parched lips.

When he opens his eyes again, he can barely see anything through the steam. He rests his hand against the glass, lowering his head to let out a shaky breath.

The water below his feet is red.

_“Have you finally pieced it all together?”_

_Akira doesn’t reply, watching Goro carefully like a startled deer. Goro can’t look away from his eyes, wide and round, shining with life, like he’s foolish enough to believe this light is enough to help him get out of here alive. It’s what Akira always wanted, didn’t he? For him to keep talking, and talking, as he listened with those naive doe eyes, unaware that he’d already been marked as Goro’s prey._

_The fact that Joker looks surprised makes him feel both elated and utterly disappointed. He won the game, yes. But why did it feel like Joker forfeited right before the ending?_

_Still, Goro can’t help but cherish the look on Akira’s face. If he had more time, he would be happy to indulge himself in a single kiss, biting on the perfectly plump lips to make them bleed this one last time. Would he be just as shocked to find that Goro had these feelings all along, but decided to sacrifice him anyway?_

_He’s glad Akira remains silent. Goro prefers him that way._

_When he pulls the trigger, the blood flows from Akira’s forehead, and down his cheeks like tears, vanishing under the rim of his turtleneck. It makes his hands shake. Even when he’s dying, Akira weeps for Goro—like Goro needs his fucking pity._

_He looks over Akira’s corpse, half-expecting him to just get back up. He hates that he needs to make it look like it was a suicide, he would gladly shoot Joker’s corpse ten more times just to make sure he’s really dead._

_A few snowflakes rest on Akira’s head—it’s so strange to see the interrogation room covered in snow. And then Goro sees the room from above, his body surprisingly light like it’s made of air. Akira really is crying. He’s smaller, and very much alive, holding something black and nasty in his hands, and Goro feels an urge to smack it away, bury it deep in the snow._

_Something tells him that if he digs his fingers into the frozen ground, maybe finally the cold will go away._

_He leaves Akira alone and weeping, hoping that eventually he just freezes to death._

Goro’s skin burns when he gets out of the shower. He’s itchy all over, and when he wipes his body clean, he almost wishes all his towels weren’t so soft—he wants them to be rough enough to peel off his skin, rip it clean off so he can finally see past the layers tissue and muscles and look for whatever’s making his body malfunction.

His skin pulsates like a heartbeat. It’s almost like it’s urging him to answer.

Akira might live under his skin like a disgusting parasite, but Goro doesn’t owe him a fucking thing.

He granted him a quick and painless death. It’s already better than that trash deserved.

***

 **Interviewer:** Is it true you withdrew yourself from the media as part of your plan to capture the Phantom Thieves?

 **Goro Akechi:** I truly apologize for causing such a stir. Honestly, it required a lot of patience not to gut him right in front of his friends, haha. The look on their faces would be rather priceless and I’d love to see it.

 **Interviewer:** Then, was it also your plan when you said they weren’t at fault after their popularity declined?

 **Goro Akechi:** Of course. You should have seen that last glimmer of hope in his eyes, when he thought I was going to spare his life. All it took was a couple of sweet words, pity here and there. All these wannabe heroes are always eager to measure others by their own sense of justice. He would never do something like this—make someone believe he’s loved and understood, only to get stabbed, or rather shot, by the very same person when he least expects it. That’s the same strategy used in romance, wouldn’t you agree?

 **Interviewer:** That’s a rather unique stance, Akechi-san **.** So after everything that happened, you still think he was a hero? Personally, I just think you did the world a favor, I’m sure everyone agrees.

(Audience cheers.)

 **Goro Akechi:** Oh, far from it. You see, he might have thought himself a savior, but he’s never been the hero of this story. I am.

***

When the Shadow begs for mercy, Goro doesn’t let him finish the sentence. He never does.

The only person he wanted to talk back to him is likely still in the morgue. He doesn’t know why he never goes to see his body. He’s still busy with the last of the scum Shido wants to get rid of him—that’s what he tells himself anyway.

It’s his last job, at least for now. The election is far too close, they shouldn’t draw too much attention. It’s how Goro spent the last few years of his life—one last job, one last push, one more order from Shido, and he’s going to be done. Every day he rehearses his speech to his father, changing a detail here and there to make sure it’s perfect.

Goro’s about to pull the trigger when—

“You’re pathetic,” the shadow says in Akira’s voice.

He’s no longer a well-dressed politician—instead, kneeling in front of him, he finds Joker, his eyes yellow and bright in the dimness of the room. He looks up at Goro with his usual insolence.

Goro looks at his gun, taking a few steps closer to rest it against Joker’s forehead.

“Afraid you’re going to miss?” Joker purrs. “You wound me. It took me a long time to get here just to talk to you.”

“I should have expected you,” Goro says calmly. “Is the afterlife so boring that you decided to waste your time haunting me? A self-righteous hero like you should be treated to an exclusive suite, isn’t that correct?”

“I’m here with a message,” Joker cocks his head. “To remind you about your debt, little crow.”

“I don’t—”

Joker immediately interrupts him. “How many visions do you get daily, Goro? Sleeping well, I presume? You still think it’s worth it, don’t you? You’re more stupid than I thought.”

“You can go fuck yourself,” Goro spits. “When I shoot you again, I hope they send you to hell this time.”

“I used to think that murdering the only person to ever love you was punishing enough,” Joker looks at Goro like he’s the saddest thing he’s ever seen. “But I suppose you can only learn the truth the hard way. Who knows, you might find it liberating—what is it that they say? It’s good to stretch out your wings every now and then?”

Goro pulls the trigger. The shot echoes in the empty room like hollow thunder as the body of the politician falls to the ground, the ghost of Joker nowhere to be seen.

As the Shadow dissolves into a wisp of smoke, Goro notices something on the floor lying in its place, and he leans over to pick it up.

A black feather. He expected as much.

It seems like some elaborate joke. The feather sticks to his hand like it’s covered in glue, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get rid of it. And then there’s another feather, sticking to his shoe. And then a couple of fresh ones on his sleeve. No, they’re not glued to him, he realizes. They’re _growing_.

He expects the feathers to disappear once he gets out of Mementos like any other status effect, but if anything it seems to speed up their growth, as they finally burst through his skin, tearing at his flesh like plants eager to greet the sunlight. Even when he screams in pain, people around him don’t seem to notice—they pass him by, completely unaware of his presence.

He doesn’t remember getting home. He’s not even sure he went to Mementos in the first place. Still, he takes out his phone to inform Shido about his finished job, but he never hears back from him.

After checking his phone thoroughly, he finds that all his messages from Akira are gone. And not just messages. The pictures he took for his food blog, sneaky shots of Akira brewing coffee in Leblanc that he stole from Ann’s social media—all of it gone like it never existed in the first place.

Akira doesn’t exist. Not in the world outside, not even on his phone. The realization hits him harder than it should. Nothing has ever made him feel less human than this.

The itching grows stronger.

When Goro looks down he’s not at all surprised to find that his arm is already entirely covered in black feathers.

He falls asleep on the couch, or on the bed, or on the floor—he can’t exactly recall, but he probably had to fall asleep somewhere. All that matters is that he’s alone in his flat, far away from Mementos, and far away from Akira's cold corpse decaying in the morgue.

The dreams that follow melt with reality until there’s nothing left of him or the world around him.

*

He falls asleep. His cold body feels like it’s covered by snow.

*

He wakes up. His bed is a bird’s nest, and he can’t bring himself to get up.

*

He falls asleep. He manages to get out of bed, and he’s perched upon the windowsill with his head hung low, hidden under his arm.

*

He wakes up. The birds chirping outside the window tell him his very first love story.

*

He falls asleep. The fluff of his feathers keeps him warm.

*

Goro doesn’t know how much time has passed since he last felt like himself. His phone is silent—Shido no longer has a reason to contact him, and Akira can’t possibly text him from the depths of hell.

He picks up his phone anyway just to see if the world outside his room still exists.

Nothing on the news catches his attention. He sees his father’s face a lot, but for the first time in ages, it barely bothers him. He can’t bring himself to resent him or feel anything at all—he had some plan, didn’t he? If he could only—

_recall?_

_is that what you really want?_

_it was easy, wasn’t it? to rip off all the memories of him you buried deep inside you_

_to forget how he held you, loved you, saved you over and over again, lifted your broken body off the ground, carried your soul like a badge of honor_

_all these lives he spent saving you and you never did a single thing to return to the favor— you watched him die for you over and over again, fully aware he was cursed to repeat his fate just to help you_

_silly bird, you were so eager to fall to your own doom_

_there are countless birds flying through the sky as we speak_

_what makes you special?_

_what makes you worth saving?_

_if you ever loved him just say—_

_“I want to see him again.”_

***

When he finds out that Akira Kurusu is still very much alive, he expects the itching to cease—it doesn’t. Still, he plays his part; the part he played countless times already.

Except this time, when he greets Akira and his friends, he finds that he’s completely unable to summon Robin Hood. Loki takes him over from the very beginning, shielding his body from the view, protecting him as much as he can. Akira’s desperate to see him, but Goro would never let him—not when he looks the way he does.

That’s the key to it, isn’t it? To just accept what he is, to spare Akira the burden of knowledge.

Things play out the same way they always do, yet something feels undeniably different, fate shifting under his feet like sand. His cognition is surprisingly quiet, watching him with a hint of fear—still, it barely hesitates when it aims to shoot.

Akira screams his name.

He recalls dying is painful—he never expected death to go easy on him, not after everything he’s done.

But it’s different this time around—it’s warm and inviting, like a warm gust of wind sweeping him away into the unknown, encouraging him to stretch out his wings.

Just for a moment, Goro finds out what it’s like to fly.

* * *

_the skeleton of the city you see below you stretches out across the horizon_

_you can see people gathering in anticipation of something that no longer concerns you_

_you ponder how insignificant they all seem from above—little worms barely able to push their way up through the dirt_

_they’re specks of dust, they’re nothing_

_they’re less than the air between your wings_

_your mind unravels in front of you like a thread_

_you watch the last bits of your humanity fall somewhere below, spattering your feathers beneath their feet. you have no doubt in your mind that your feathers will guide them on their path._

_you can’t tell why it’s important—for all you know they’re your mortal enemies_

_you probably left your purpose with the last remains of your humanity_

_the feathers dance in the air, unable to meet the ground, but you wait patiently with unshakable confidence that one of them will meet its mark_

_finally, a single feather drops right in front of the group below, the same group you’ve been watching for hours, maybe days_

_one of the figures stops to pick it up. you think you can see them put the feather into their coat’s pocket_

_you hope they’ll treasure it. you ripped so many feathers from your wings they became numb at this point_

_and then you flutter your wings and in your own language, you let the heavens know that—_

______***********__________*************_________*********________

_the crow dives in this one last time_

* * *

The flight still returns in his dreams, and the dreams slowly merge with reality until he’s no longer able to tell when he’s asleep and when he’s awake.

Goro doesn’t remember the landing. His soul flickers in the nothingness, constantly reshaping and evolving in a weak attempt to find a suitable vessel to contain it.

He wakes up in a cold room with no door, and no windows, like it’s the most natural thing to occur. Everything is white and so bright that he can’t see a single shadow staining the bottomless void around him. He’s quite sure it must be a room, even though he can’t see any corners to serve him as a point of reference. It seems like something’s keeping him immobile—he can’t even move his head to check if the rest of him made it through the journey in one piece.

Goro wonders if this is what the afterlife was always meant to be like.

That’s what it has to be, right? Goro doesn’t remember dying—but the fact that he did die seems undeniable and obvious even in his barely functioning mind. He feels more like himself at that point, though still weirdly detached from his own body.

In his solitude, he finds that whether or not he chooses to feel human is entirely up to him—it’s like flicking an on and off switch. It might come in handy for whatever he has to face next. Afterlife or not, there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s not meant to rest peacefully.

And then one day, he hears footsteps. A strange man manifests in front of him, coming seemingly from nowhere. Goro feels like he’s seen him before, but he can’t exactly recall where.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he says. “I almost thought I lost you.”

The way he talks seems almost paternal and that is enough to light up Goro’s rage. Something in his mind rattles desperately from the inside, and it feels like opening an old cabinet full of dusty files that he’s yet to make sense of. He does remember keeping track of the stranger, however. The man slowly shapes himself into a human he knew as Takuto Maruki.

“So you do recognize me?” Maruki asks. “I’ve been here before, you see. But I feel like this is the first time you’ve acknowledged my presence.”

Goro decides not to answer, but it does feel like Maruki enjoys monologuing, so he lets him do just that. Goro withdraws somewhere inside his own mind.

Maruki disappears after that, or maybe Goro chooses to ignore his presence. Flicking the off switch seems far more reasonable for now. Whenever Goro turns back human, he finds himself wishing he would go back to being a mindless animal. It’s much easier to keep his thoughts as simple as possible.

When he opens his eyes again, the room is far less bright—he can see the tiles on the floor, and something resembling furniture. It looks like a waiting room in a clinic if someone asked him to take a wild guess.

He doesn’t know how often Maruki comes and goes to visit him in his captivity. In his new form, he rarely feels hungry or lonely. Maybe Maruki still wants to see how much of him remains human.

Goro’s still likely capable of human speech, but he never tries to indulge Maruki in conversation. He doesn’t owe this man anything, and even when he’s being held prisoner, his spirit of rebellion doesn’t waver. He lets Maruki take notes, and observe him like he’s a particularly interesting case in a cabinet of curiosities.

That day, Maruki looks more than pleased with himself.

“Akechi-kun,” Maruki says softly. “I have a surprise for you.”

Like with most things in the Palace—it’s what Goro decides to call this place after careful deliberation—the object simply manifests out of thin air, twirling and taking shape until it forms itself into a mirror. The part of him that used to be a detective pokes at the ends of his brain to wonder about the extent of Maruki’s powers, but more importantly, to understand his goal.

As usual, Goro’s gaze is fixed on the floor, refusing to look up. Maruki snaps his fingers at him, which only pisses him off even more, but stubbornly, he refuses to obey.

“I think you should see what you’ve become,” Maruki says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “It’s crucial for your recovery.”

For the first time, Goro makes a sound—it vaguely sounds like a snort. He doesn’t want recovery. He just wants to be able to leave this godforsaken prison.

As if reading his mind, Maruki continues. “If you do as I say, I’ll remove the chains.”

The chains?

Goro laughs, or he thinks he laughs, but the sound is ugly and inhuman where it leaves his throat. All this time, he didn’t even realize he was chained down, but it would explain why he couldn’t move his body.

_Fine. I’ll do as you say. But promise me you won’t come back tomorrow._

“Cross my heart,” Maruki smiles, making a meaningless gesture over his chest. “Hope to die.”

Goro wishes he could smile. _You will die. Just you wait._

With that in mind, Goro takes a deep breath and looks at the mirror. As difficult as it is, he tries to look at anything but his own reflection, so he starts with the frame. It’s beautiful, vaguely reminding him of the tentacles of Maruki’s Persona that he sometimes sees flickering behind Maruki like a ghost. The tentacles stretch out like vines into the floor, slowly taking over the walls of the tiny room—he can’t believe just that is enough to hold the weight of an entire reality together.

It’s all there is to it. One man, one mind, one foolish plan. In the countless realities, that’s all it will ever be.

Something catches his attention, a strange light on the surface of the mirror, and being the crow that he is, he’s not exactly able to look away.

For a moment, all he sees is feathers. Black shiny feathers, covering him like a heap of autumn leaves. He tries to shrug them off, and to his horror, he realizes it does little to get rid of them. Childishly, he shakes, and shakes, and shakes, but they’re still there, stuck like glue to his body.

A memory of his skin bursting open flickers inside his head like a bad dream.

“Uncross your arms, Akechi-kun,” Maruki offers helpfully.

Goro tries to curse him, but all that leaves his throat is an angry snarl. He does as he’s told, however. The feathers shift and unravel and finally, no longer able to look away from his reflection, he sees his wings—terrifying and wide, sucking out all the light from the room like a black hole.

His face is still somewhat recognizable, and yet, he can’t get it to express the hatred he’s feeling—it’s stone-cold and indifferent like it belongs to someone else. He can see the feathers slowly make his way over the side of his cheeks—a grim reminder that soon, even that last part of him will be lost too.

He studies his new body further, making mental notes as he goes.

The claws seem weirdly familiar. They’re not that different from his Metaverse outfit, just longer and more curly, and it’s the one side of himself that he welcomes—he can’t wait to rip Maruki to shreds, for his blood to drip down onto the white floor, to have them pry Maruki open, clawing and digging, the same way as Maruki’s been trying to make his way into Goro’s head.

Is this what Maruki wanted all along? To make him see that his body belongs to a monster? Half-human, half-bird, a demon built out of hate incarnate—completely out of place in the sacred purity of Maruki’s Palace.

Maruki’s still staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Maybe if you were less stubborn about it,” he whispers, almost as he pities him. “Maybe then, I’d still be able to help you.”

In some random fit of pure rage, he tries to attack Maruki with his wings, but the vines are on him instantly, wrapping around him and clipping his wings with immeasurable strength. On his part, Maruki looks completely unimpressed about the whole ordeal.

_What have you done to me?_

“Me?” Maruki replies. “The monster in front of you is how you view yourself—the mirror merely reflects what you’ve already been feeling. Don’t forget, Akechi-kun, _you_ did this. You’re lashing out, ever disgusted by the mere concept of anyone showing you kindness.”

_This isn’t kindness. It’s torture._

Maruki comes closer then, his white glove a contrast against the blackness of Goro’s feathers. Goro struggles against his binds, wishing there was something, _anything_ —

To his surprise, Maruki screams and jumps away from him—his pristine glove is dark and scorched, the smell of burnt cloth still lingering in the air.

“Ah,” Maruki takes off the glove, discarding it on the floor as if nothing happened. “Forgive me. It’s my fault, I underestimated your spirit. It seems your soul is rebellious as ever. Maybe Loki isn’t entirely gone as I initially thought.”

Loki? The name sounds familiar and it makes something stir in his mind, but it’s like trying to force open a door that won’t budge.

“I suppose I shouldn’t touch you,” Maruki mutters, more to himself than Goro. “At least not until I find a way to make you happy. In any case, I’ll see you soon.”

Goro doesn’t know what ‘soon’ means. All that matters is that Maruki’s gone.

The mirror stays, however. As a punishment for his insolence, he’s forced to look at his ever-shifting reflection every single day. He welcomes the changes without particular terror, withdrawing further and further from the part of himself he knew as Goro Akechi.

Most of the time, Goro’s consciousness flickers in and out like an old lightbulb. But even when he’s sane, he refuses to speak in front of Maruki, letting the madness gnaw at him from the inside and tear him apart—he’s done so before, hasn’t he? It’s not all that different.

Once his beak covers most of his face, he can at least reach far enough to rip off his feathers. For now, he figures, it might be his only way of measuring the passage of time.

He plucks his feathers then, one after one, just to have an illusion of having control of his situation. Just to see the black feathers defile the purity of the pristine white floor.

Maruki watches the feathers fall with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Maybe I should have placed you somewhere else,” Maruki mutters. “Perhaps, you’d be happier in the Garden of ------------”

The animal takes over, Maruki’s voice slowly fading away. It happens a lot recently, human speech becoming more and more unintelligible with each passing day.

Somewhere in the back of its head, Goro finds himself daydreaming.

In the cold Palace, he wonders if there were birds in the Garden of Eden. He wonders if they still flew across the perfect sky if there was nothing to run away from, and nothing to chase after. He wonders how they felt when the paradise crumbled, and their wings couldn’t stop them from falling.

“Ah,” Maruki tells him a moment or maybe days later. “I think I found the perfect solution. I should just build you your own cage.”

Goro hides his face behind his wing to make himself forget he’s still human.

Unlike most birds flying across the horizon, crows were never meant to be free.

***

“------sickening----” A female voice says. “To think-------in a cage like this.”

“We can’t just-------like this, right?”

“Look at him, he’s-------”

Someone clears their throat. “------deserve this, right?”

“Whether you like it or not, he-------We owe him, right, Joker?”

“Joker, are you-----”

“Please, stop.”

Goro opens his eyes at the last voice. For the first time in a while, he’s not alone. The people in front of him shuffle nervously, and while he doesn’t particularly care about any of them, he claws at his remaining humanity to at least be able to understand the conversation.

His eyes try to reach the very person they’re shielding from him, but the room is too dark for him to see anything properly.

“I think he recognizes your voice,” the first girl says again. “Senpai, are you sure—”

“I’m sure,” Joker says. “We have to get him out of here.”

“But how, he’s—”

“I’m glad you’re all here,” Maruki says.

They all turn towards the newcomer. Maruki claps his hands and the lights turn off, making Goro flinch. It’s been a while since he’s seen the light, but once his eyes adjust, he can clearly see his surroundings. It seems like he’s inside an actual cage, growing around him like a ribcage of a giant animal.

“We can negotiate the terms of Akechi-kun’s, ah… captivity.”

“Captivity?” Joker repeats, his voice shaking with anger.

“It’s a price he paid to keep you safe,” Maruki says. “Do you know the tale of Yatagarasu? Akechi-kun was guiding you all that time, wasn’t he? Surely, you noticed the feathers.”

One of the girls takes a step forward. “You did this to him! Change him back to normal!”

“I can’t do that,” Maruki smiles sadly. “My research leads me to believe that it’s a self-inflicted curse that affects his own cognition. I imagine some part of him considers it to be penance?”

Joker comes closer, his hand sliding down the cage. “Penance?”

“You see, this curse,” Maruki continues as he stands next to him. “It doesn’t merely affect the way he perceives himself. He seems to be stuck in his own head, forced to relive the same memories over and over again. Your murder. His death. It seems like he’s been hallucinating for some time now, likely from the moment he attempted to shoot you in the interrogation room.”

Joker doesn’t seem all that surprised by any of this. For a moment, his eyes meet Goro’s in silent understanding.

“What does he see himself as?” Joker asks sharply, turning to Maruki.

For the first time, Maruki looks taken aback. “A crow, of course. You mean you don’t see—”

“It doesn’t matter what I see,” Joker says. “Open the cage.”

“You should at least listen to my offer.”

“I won’t listen to anything you have to say as long as he’s in there.”

Maruki eyes him carefully, studying him the same way he’s been studying Goro all this time. Goro would give anything not to have to see it.

Whatever conclusion Maruki comes up with, he seems to be satisfied with the outcome. “Very well.”

With a creak, Goro’s cage opens but even then, he finds himself unable to move.

Someone speaks, but Goro can’t recall the right names anymore. “Akira, don’t.”

Akira comes closer anyway. Maruki tries to warn him, but Akira removes his gloves to run his bare hands over Goro’s face anyway. If the feathers hurt him, he doesn’t show it. He leans in, one hand on Goro’s beak and the other running comfortingly over his neck.

“It’s okay,” he mouths so Maruki can’t hear them.

Goro wonders if Akira can hear him the same way Maruki did. It doesn’t hurt to try.

_Set me free._

From his expression, Goro can tell that Akira understands him. “I will.”

He places a chaste kiss on the top of Goro’s beak, caressing his feathers.

Just for a moment, Goro transforms—his feathers shrink back and hide under his skin, his beak dissolves, as his face, his human face finally feels the warmth of Akira’s own. Akira kisses him again and Goro notices he still has wings, so he uses them to shield himself and Akira from everyone who might threaten them.

He’s weak—weaker than he’s ever been, but it’s nice to imagine he could just take off and take Akira with him. He briefly wonders where Maruki’s reality ends. If only Goro’s wings were strong enough to push them towards the horizon, they could leave it all behind—maybe they could get far enough for fate not to reach them.

But there’s another way out. And Akira knows as much.

Akira pulls out his knife—fast and deadly, flawless as always. His cape flutters behind him like a wing, and like a predatory bird that he is, he attacks to kill.

Something spills from his neck, something thicker than blood, and he feels a little lightheaded when it drips down his body. The last thing he sees is Akira’s gloves, no longer red, completely ruined by the black substance bursting from the open wound.

Just before the world becomes dark, he catches a glimpse of Akira’s eyes—tender, comforting, and full of love. He sees that boy again. The boy who held him as if that was enough to keep him away from the cold.

Goro’s body falls limp, straight into his loving predator’s sullied hands.

* * *

goro doesn’t know why he keeps waking up, it hurts more and more every time he does

or maybe it’s what hell is supposed to be like—he’s not allowed to die

ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts

not a single day of his life has been free of pain, and even after everything he’s done it feels unfair to wake up alone in the void

in the darkness, goro calls for his mother

she doesn’t come, but then again, why would she? her time on the earth was so brief as if her only reason for being was to deliver him—the god’s very own weapon of destruction

he sees her slicing her wrist over and over again, without stopping, as her blood flows and flows and flows and flows and flows until she’s completely empty

her son’s body drifts in the river of her own creation

in the bloody river, goro calls for akira

he realizes he’s standing among the grey walls of the interrogation room—akira’s head falls into goro’s hands and he cradles it to his chest like his greatest treasure

“are you willing to die for me goro?” it asks in akira’s voice

“yes”

“then you know what to do”

goro falls to his knees, reaching behind where he can feel the wings grow from his back, his fingers wrapping around the base

“that’s right, goro,” a woman’s voice says. “you’re not a crow, you’ve always been—”

goro pulls with all his strength—his wings are nothing more than bare branches, his feathers scattered on the floor like autumn leaves

“you’re my angel, you’ve always been my angel”

he recognizes the voice now—it’s so real he can’t believe he managed to forget it

“mom?”

“i’ll help you, goro. it was hard for me too, you just have to let go”

and goro does

his wings finally crack with a deafening sound but it’s not the part that hurts

he can feel his own soul being ripped open, dissected, sliced, and even though it has to be death, it’s the closest he’s ever felt to feeling alive

“goro?” a young boy’s voice asks “that’s your name?”

_akira, i’m sorry_

“please, please be okay,” akira sobs “i won’t let you die, mr. crow”

* * *

“Akechi?”

The first thing Goro realizes is that he’s naked. The floor under him is so cold it’s nearly burning his body. Temperature seems like a new sensation, and he hisses uncomfortably at the feeling. Someone threw a coat over his body, so at least, he’s not completely exposed but he can’t help but wonder what happened to his own clothes.

“Where am I?” he asks.

His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. Something tells him he hasn’t used it in quite some time now.

Slowly, his body remembers what it’s like to have limbs, and he moves his fingers experimentally, but that in itself exhausts him too much to even think about getting up. Someone picks him up gently, wrapping the coat tighter around him. It smells familiar, but his brain struggles to make a specific connection.

When he opens his eyes, everything feels too bright, too colorful, but even then, one red spot catches his attention, so he focuses on that instead. After a moment, he realizes it’s Akira’s gloved hand.

“Don’t worry about it for now,” Akira says softly. “I’m going to get you home.”

“Home?” Goro repeats. “But I’m—”

Maruki’s Palace starts crumbling and cracking around them. It’s the only explanation Akira’s able to offer for now.

“Trust me, neither of us is going anywhere,” he says comfortingly. “We’re safe.”

Goro has no choice but to trust him.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s lying on Akira’s bed in Leblanc, fully clothed. He still feels weak, but his body feels much lighter than it did in a long time.

“It’s good to see you awake,” Akira speaks somewhere to his side. He’s sitting in a chair, looking more exhausted than Goro’s ever seen him being.

“How long was I out?”

It feels good to be able to speak again.

“A couple of days,” Akira laughs softly. “You scared me. They all thought you’d never wake up—but I knew just how resilient you are. You wouldn’t just leave me alone without keeping your promise. A crow always repays its debt, isn’t that right?”

Goro furrows his eyebrows, wondering where to start. “What happened to Maruki?”

“He’s gone now,” Akira says with strange determination.

“But that means—”

“Your sacrifice wasn’t in vain,” Akira sits down at the edge of the bed. “You saved us. Do you remember?”

He really doesn’t, but Akira seems to accept as much.

“You’ve been stuck in his Palace from the beginning,” Akira explains softly. “You disappeared in December. I’m not sure if it was Maruki or something else entirely that saved you from your fate in the engine room. One way or another, Maruki dragged you to his Palace. You were the last piece of the puzzle he was missing—your body seemed to have merged with your cognition. In simpler words, you were stuck between Metaverse and reality.”

“The feathers,” Goro recalls. “They started growing all over my body after I killed you—or thought I killed you. But how was that relevant to Maruki’s research?”

“He used you to strengthen his power,” Akira says. “His very own Persona-based power plant. Your strong connection to the Metaverse only made him stronger. You could feel your powers weaken, right? But what happened to you, the changes in your cognition—I think Maruki was telling the truth. It was all your doing.”

Goro has better things to worry about for now. “How are we both here? You—”

“I cut through your cognition,” Akira nods. “I assumed that whatever it was you surrounded yourself with was nothing more than a Shadow, but I knew I couldn’t hurt you. It was a little funny—for a moment, I could see both of you using my third eye. What you actually were, and what you saw yourself as.”

Goro wants to ask what Akira saw, but something tells him he would just dodge the question. “What about you? Did they just let you go?”

“I should really thank Sae,” Akira smiles weakly. “I might have to go away soon, but she promised me I’ll get to see you before they take me away.”

“Detention center?”

“I’m afraid so,” Akira looks at him seriously. “So I wasn’t imagining it? You really do remember?”

“I don’t know what I remember,” Goro says honestly. “For a moment, I was a crow—that one, particular crow. And then I saw you try to save me, over and over again, through all realities, all possible outcomes. I saw us fall in love in all possible scenarios, and I… I failed you in all of them, so the crow you couldn’t save came back to punish me.”

Akira considers his words for a moment. “Do you think that’s what it was? A punishment?”

Goro doesn’t know how to answer that. “Will that just happen again? Will you have to go back and save me?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Akira says calmly. “I think I signed a pact, long before I met you. Maybe the crow I couldn’t save back then served as a catalyst for everything that happened. But there’s no doubt in my mind—the gods sent that crow to look after you. I was just an instrument they used to help you.”

Akira pauses for a moment. “You chose a difficult path to forgive yourself, Goro. Penance was always there somewhere out of your reach, ever since you were a child. You didn’t have to go through all that, but you still felt like you owed me something. All of that anger, guilt, your revenge, your twisted desires… Is it really so strange that in the end, all you had to do was let go? It felt nice to fly, didn’t it?”

Several images flash through his mind—the river. His mother. Akira’s hands holding him through warm gloves.

After everything that happened, Goro knows better than to question Akira’s words.

He forces himself into a sitting position to look at Akira’s face closely. “You mean…it wasn’t a punishment?”

“Of course not,” Akira scoffs, his eyes glistening with a playful spark. “I was meant to save you. You were always safe with me, Goro.”

It makes him shiver, the way Akira says his name. It’s almost like being born again—the light feels too bright, all the sounds too loud, but Akira’s warm presence is there to anchor him. He cautiously rests his head on Akira’s lap and if Akira’s surprised he doesn’t show it, his fingers immediately entangling themselves into Goro’s hair, his touch as delicate as a feather.

“In the end, you were there to guide me too,” Akira points out, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Your debt is repaid, little crow. You broke your wings for me, isn’t that right?”

He did and he’d do it again.

Scatter his feathers all around the world for him to see.

Instead, he settles on saying the simplest thing. “It’s nothing.”

Akira says something in reply, some answer that doesn’t matter for now.

Is this what it’s like to be alive? To be warm, to be comfortable, safe in someone’s presence? Is this really what life was always meant to be?

He chuckles to himself, and somewhere above him Akira falls silent, but he can still sense his smile. He feels raw and bare in Akira’s arms, his new skin still maybe a little unfamiliar, but not entirely uncomfortable. And then he closes his eyes, for the first time in ages not afraid of falling asleep. But before he does—

“Thank you… for saving me again,” Goro mutters.

And again, and again, and again.

**Author's Note:**

> the story was originally supposed to be published for an event i had to drop out from, so i'm happy that in the end, i did get to finish it, even if i couldn't do so at the time. 
> 
> other than "the grateful crane", you can probably find some references to "the black swan"—the movie's evocative imagery really stuck with me when i tried to describe goro's transformation. 
> 
> when i first came out with the idea over three months ago, i planned for the fic to end with goro's death, but in the end, i couldn't bring myself to do so. that said, i might eventually write an alternative ending and post it separately.
> 
> finally, i want to thank [cruellae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae) and [shanti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shantealeaves/pseuds/shantealeaves) for supporting me throughout the process of writing this fic and my numerous mental breakdowns. this story wouldn't exist if it wasn't for you.
> 
> _  
> talk to me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/akihmorn)


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